Page 20 of Knuckles & Knives
“Ah. So the enforcer finally grew some balls.” He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can see the silver streak in his hair catch the light. “How was it? Passionate? Tender? Or did he treat you like you might break?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Everything that happens in this club is my business,brujita. I’m the one who keeps the peace when things get messy.” His voice drops to something darker, more dangerous. “And things are about to get very messy.”
“What do you mean?”
Instead of answering, he starts stripping off his shirt, revealing the intricate blackwork tattoos that cover his chest and shoulders. In the stark lighting, the designs look like they’re moving, shifting across his skin with each breath.
“I mean,” he says, tossing the shirt aside, “that you’re about to have a choice to make, and choices require clarity.” He bounces on his toes, his hands loose at his sides. “So let’s get clear.”
“Axel—”
“One round. No rules, no protection, just skill versus skill.” His smile is all teeth and challenge. “Unless you’re afraid of getting hurt.”
The taunt works exactly as intended, igniting the competitive fire that’s gotten me into more trouble than I can count. “You think I can’t take you?”
“I think you’ve been coddled by Dom’s protective instincts and Marcus’s careful planning. I think you’ve forgotten what itfeels like to fight someone who won’t pull their punches because they care about you.” He raises his hands, settling into a stance that’s deceptively casual. “Prove me wrong.”
I burst out laughing. “Did you forget what happened last time?”
“Last time was a game. You got lucky.”
“That wasn’t luck,” I hiss.
“Then prove it,brujita. Knock me out again and you can do whatever you want to me.”
I should walk away. Every rational part of my brain is screaming that this is a bad idea, that fighting Axel when I’m emotionally compromised is asking for trouble.
But rationality has never been my strong suit, and the challenge in his eyes is impossible to ignore.
“You won’t hold back this time?”
“I will give you my all.” He taps his fist to his chest twice.
I step into the ring. “One round,” I agree. “And when I win again, you tell me what game you’re really playing here.”
“Deal. And when I win…” His gaze travels over me with predatory appreciation. “Well, we’ll figure that out when it happens.”
We circle each other in the spotlight, two predators testing boundaries. Axel moves like water, fluid and unpredictable, while I rely on the fundamentals Dom drilled into me during our singular training session. The contrast should put me at a disadvantage, but Axel’s arrogant. He’s showing off.
The realization hits just as he launches into a complex combination that’s more flash than substance. Beautiful technique, absolutely devastating if it lands, but it leaves him exposed for half a second longer than necessary. I slip the punches and counter with a sharp jab to his ribs that makes him grunt.
“Lucky shot,” he says, but there’s approval in his voice.
“Was it?”
We reset and go again, harder this time. Axel’s speed is incredible, but speed without strategy is just chaos, and I’ve learned to thrive in chaos. Every time he goes for the spectacular finish, I make him pay with simple, effective counters that add up over time.
By the middle of the round, he’s breathing harder, and there’s something like respect in his dark eyes.
“You’re not fighting me,” he observes, dodging a combination before responding with his own. “You’re fighting my ego.”
“Your ego’s a bigger target. Besides, if either one of us should have the ego, it’s me since I already KO’d your ass.”
His laugh is pure delight, even as he absorbs a body shot that would drop most people. “Fuck, I like you.”
But liking me doesn’t make him fight any less viciously. If anything, it seems to liberate him, allowing him to attack with the kind of creative brutality that’s made him undefeated for two years. I have to dig deep into everything Dom taught me about reading opponents, about using strategy over strength.
